


DADBUR TIME

by racooninnit



Series: mental illness is just another form of creative writing [15]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Wilbur Soot, Father-Son Relationship, Lowercase, Mentioned Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Mexican Dream, Mentioned Sam | Awesamdude, Protective Wilbur Soot, Resurrected Wilbur Soot, Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), The afterlife or something i guess, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), a little bit, and fluff i guess, as a treat, dadbur brainrot above all else, dont ask me, he resurrected himself, literally pulled a jack manifold, resurrected tommyinnit, thats right this is a dadbur fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 13:09:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30039189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/racooninnit/pseuds/racooninnit
Summary: sorry for not posting for like eleven days here's a dadbur fic as my apology. this is pure self-indulgence i just really wanted to write dadbur. also, i shouldn't need to say this because it should be common sense, but this is not a ship fic, do not ship anybody here.and thank you to ellie for beta reading this :D
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: mental illness is just another form of creative writing [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104359
Comments: 8
Kudos: 222





	DADBUR TIME

when wilbur looks at tommy he sees a lot of things.

he sees spitfire and anger, threatening to bubble over. he sees energy and passion and _love_ , all thrown together in a mix that could only ever be tommy. he sees a kid who was beaten down by the world over, and over again, and still had the strength to get back up and kick and scream for all to hear. he sees his baby, his pride and joy, the child he raised as his son who was left behind by the world. the child he left behind when he died.

and now, as he holds tommy in his arms while the boy sobs, he promises never to leave him behind again. he _can’t_ do that, not to tommy, not _again_. even if that promise should be incredibly hard to break with both of them being dead and taking residence in the afterlife now, he’ll make sure to keep it.

so he pulls tommy impossibly close to his chest, presses his face into his hair, and whispers apologies and comforts and whatever he thinks of in those moments. there’s no rhyme or reason to it, but it seems to serve its purpose because tommy buries his face further into wilbur’s shoulder as he cries.

“w-wilby, wilby, _papa_ ,” he sobs, and wilbur can almost hear his heart breaking in his chest. “he- he wouldn’t _st-top_ , it- i-it hurt s-so _bad_ , i j-ust wanted _c-closure_.”

and, never in his life (afterlife? existence? whatever, not important) has wilbur wanted to hurt anybody more than dream in these very moments. 

“it’s okay sweetheart, you’re okay, he can’t get you now. you’re safe, i’ll keep you safe.”

“promise?” tommy looks up at him with such big eyes, and wilbur _melts_.

“i promise.”

and he’s going to keep his promise, no matter what. he’s let tommy down far too much while they were alive, and he’ll be damned if he ever lets anything hurt him again.

the two months they spend together in the afterlife are the best two months of the entire time wilburs been here, and that's including the time he realized he could conjure playing cards. wilbur finally got to talk to tommy again, and even if everything wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, it was nice to be around him again.

hell, his cohabitants (roommates felt far too domestic for their situation, in wilbur’s humble opinion) weren’t as obnoxious as normal. schlatt made some semblance of an effort to not be shitfaced everytime he was around tommy, even if he _did_ offer vodka to the blonde one time, and mexican dream was… okay well mexican dream was actually the exact same as he always had been, but tommy seems to get along with him just fine so wilbur isn’t bothered by it.

and then the fragile peace they’d been cultivating over the past few weeks was shattered when a new presence made itself known. dream. And he wasn’t dead, no, he was simply on a retrieval mission. they all knew what that meant the moment dream invaded their plane.

and wilbur could do nothing but watch as tommy was dragged away from him, the man’s laugh ringing far louder in his mind than any of tommy’s cries. he wasn’t going to let dream get away with this. he’s hurt tommy one two many times for him to allow this.

with a new sense of agency, wilbur screams. wilbur shouts to the high heavens and the depths of hell and _whoever is listening_ , and he begs for the chance to help tommy.

it’s pathetic, and he knows it. but he has to try, he has to try for tommy. for his son. his child. 

and for once, the universe takes mercy on him. one moment, he’s standing in the void he’s grown so accustomed to, and the next he’s rising from the ground in a dark, dingy, humid prison cell. the first thing he sees is a familiar porcelain mask, and then an even more familiar mop of blonde hair.

and as he takes in the scene before him, and his rage boils. dream is clutching tommy’s shirt in his hand, lifting the boy off the ground and holding him against the wall. his arm is poised back and his hand is clenched into a fist, blood and bruises speckled across his knuckles. tommys nose is pouring blood down his face and crooked at an odd angle, definitely broken, but he doesn’t seem to care, far more focused on babbling at dream, giving broken pleas to stop hurting him.

he hasn’t noticed wilbur yet, but dream sure has.

“wilbur soot! how funny seeing you here.” he drops tommy, and wilbur watches the boy slump to the floor.

“cut the bullshit dream. i’m not here to be friendly with you.” wilbur’s voice is little more than a low rumble, and tommy's head shoots up to look at him when he hears it.

“wilbur?” tommy asks softly, heavy disbelief laced into the word, and wilbur nods.

“yeah, i’m here toms.”

there’s a tense silence, and wilbur watches as tommy sniffles, wipes blood away from his nose, and proceeds to scramble over to him, throwing himself into his arms with far more force than wilbur could ever expect from an underweight teenager.

“wilbur!” this time it’s a desperate cry as tommy shoves himself against wilbur, uncaring of the pain that shoots through his nose. “you- you’re h-here, you came back!”

“of course i did, tommy i would _never_ leave you here again, and definitely not with _him_.”

at the mention of the other man in the cell, wilbur finally looks over to dream again, glaring with all the intensity he can muster. a porcelain smile looks back at him, seemingly unbothered, but wilbur catches the way he shifts just enough to know that he’s nervous.

“i’m not going to listen to anything you tell me, dream. i know what you did to tommy, and i’m not going to let you get away with that or anything else. even death isn’t enough to keep me from stopping you.”

dream gives an exaggerated sigh, hunching his shoulders slightly as if in mock disappointment.

“well, that’s a shame. i was hoping you’d be interested in having some fun with me when i brought you back, but i guess we can’t do that now.”

“there’s no fun that we’re _ever_ going to have together. not after everything you’ve done.”

“oh well… you know where i’ll be if you ever change your mind.”

almost on cue, wilbur can suddenly hear the footsteps of the warden outside the cell, and immediately tommy takes to yelling for him.

sam is certainly surprised when he sees that not only is tommy alive, but wilbur is as well.

wilbur glares ar the man through the entirety of the process of them leaving, holding tommy close to himself whenever possible. he definitely has… _words_ for sam, but right now he’s far more focused on getting tommy home and making sure he gets some adequate rest, not to mention he’s pretty tired himself.

It takes more walking than either was expecting, and a couple of long-winded and rather unpleasant interactions, but eventually they find themselves in tommy’s dirt hutch, cuddled together on his bed and rapidly sinking into their drowsiness.

“l’ve you papa.”

“i love you too toms.”

they’re far from being okay anytime soon, but wilbur gets the feeling that it’ll come eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to harry styles while writing this. also me twt is @racooninnit check me out there if you'd like


End file.
